


To Those Who Wait

by kkscatnip (autohaptic)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal, Begging, Community: smut_fest, Enemies, Hispanic Character, Love/Hate, M/M, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-09
Updated: 2011-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autohaptic/pseuds/kkscatnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reginald Marcus is pretty much on Brice Sanchez's shitlist. The question is whether that's where he wants to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Those Who Wait

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make the Spanish easy enough to get the gist of from context; a lot of it doesn't matter if you understand the exact words or not as long as you get the general idea. Apologies for any bits that are incomprehensible!

Reginald Marcus was eighteen kinds of mierda de desprestigio culo, in Brice's opinion. He'd known the man for years and his opinion only solidified further the longer time went on.

At this very second his opinion was weighted by the letter that Brice's contact handed over. It was written with Marcus's slanting script, one Brice was beginning to recognize without any signature at the bottom, which was good because this one had no signature. The letters were also more messy than usual; clearly Marcus had been in a hurry. Brice's name wasn't even on the outside.

_Beat you to the punch._ He knew he shouldn't have stopped for repairs; he'd have to ask by how much Marcus had bested him. _Let's see who manages that contact in Boondock first. I'll wager a hundred credits I make it before you._

Brice didn't grind his teeth, but that was only because he made a conscious effort not to. Calmarse; calma. "How long ago did he leave this?"

"Five days," the contact said, almost absently; her mind was somewhere else, or she wanted it to be somewhere else, and Brice wasn't invited.

Fair enough. "Thanks."

The contact merely held out her hand, her face passive.

Bastard had left him to foot the bill, too. Bueno, Brice thought, muy fucking bueno. He dug into his pocket and placed a single bill in her hand. A slight smile came to her lips and she looked back down at her screen. A dismissal, if he ever saw one.

As he walked back to his ship, Brice went over his options. Turning down the wager wasn't really possible; he had a good deal more dignity than that. So then the only option was to interfere somehow.

He knew a hell of a lot of people on Tercere, where the job Marcus had stolen from him was supposed to take place. He'd lived there for two years when he was hiding from the Armada's draft for their silly war against piracy, but that had been when he was eighteen and idealistic enough to think he could live life free as space dust _and_ captain a ship. Un idiota.

It was possible that he could have the local law enforcement in that area detain him, for some bogus charge, but that would be obvious and Brice was anything but obvious. He was a schemer, subtle where Marcus would march in with trumpets blaring. Asshole had to put on un espectáculo wherever he went.

Brice would never leave stupid fucking notes; face-to-face was more his style.

So it had to be something that the ship went through anyway--there was always the Armada inspection to make sure all goods were properly logged and taxed and such. He had a connection in the Armada--one of the few from his days there that he still kept in touch with--who might be able to pull some strings, too.

Right. It only took the length of the walk back to his ship to place the proper calls and receive confirmation that Marcus's ship was there and they would detain him for as long as possible, on suspicion of smuggling. They'd find nothing, of course, unless Marcus was running a job Brice didn't know about.

A hell of a lot better than the aiding and abetting piracy investigation he deserved.

By the time he walked back up the gangplank to his ship, his fiesty little pilot was waiting for him, bright smile there in force. Muy especial was what she was, and not the good kind of special either.

"Heya, Ginger." It was more of a description than a name, so far as he knew, but it was the only name she'd given. "We got enough to get us to Boondock?" Becaue there was no way in hell he was going to pass up taking a hundred credits from Marcus.

"Yep!" Her voice was bright and chipper.

Brice once again resisted the urge to grind his teeth. There was only a certain amount of cheerfulness he could take; sometimes he thought that Ginger did it just because she knew it made him squirm.

The running joke about skin tones matching disposition was an apt one: Brice's moca was the darkest, and he was generally the most ill-tempered. "Good." He didn't bite off the word, and counted that as una victoria.

Walt--Walton, that was--his mechanic/first mate was sitting in the cargo bay playing a game of solitaire. Old-fashioned style, with real cards and everything. "Everybody aboard?" Walt nodded. "Fire her up, then."

"Voy," Walt said, and took off toward the engine room.

Ginger had already cranked the gangplank back to its spot--they really ought to get that fixed one of these days; he felt slightly bad about having a hundred-pound girl cranking it up at every port. But she didn't complain, so he didn't make an issue of it.

The whirring of the engine as it fired up was a comforting sound.

\---

Boondock was essentially what its name implied: a port two planets over from Tercere, on Jira. The 'port' wasn't even worthy of the name; their idea of considerations for ships were raised platforms that were as dusty as the rest of the small city. Trazador barely fit on the small one, but the larger one was ocupado.

Not by Marcus's ship, either; it was a ship he'd never seen before: Agua Luna. No Armada insignia, though, which he decided to take as a good omen.

The contact in Boondock was the nervous sort, and Ginger and Walt were both short enough to look nonthreatening as long as they wore long-sleeved shirts to cover the muscle in their arms. There was no hiding the broadness of Walt's shoulders, though, and the contact just gave Brice a look. "You don't trust me sufficiently to come alone?"

Brice really wished he could ponche the guy and still get a job out of him. "We're unarmed, as requested." The request hadn't specified that he ought to come alone. "Do you have a job for us?"

"Is this your whole crew?"

There was also Ginger's partner, but Landy mostly kept to herself and wasn't properly crew anyway; she was just along for the ride. "Yes."

"Hmm." The guy made a big show of thinking it over, whether he was going to give Brice the job or not, when they both knew that he wouldn't have had Brice waste the fuel over nothing. And he'd known how small Brice's crew was from the start, too; he was just being an cabrón. "I have something I'd like for you to _liberar_ for me."

And thus commenced the verbal sparring that came with any job: back-and-forth about time frame and price and so forth. At least he knew exactly where he wanted the goods dropped: back here.

They hadn't had a job in close to three weeks, thanks to fucking Marcus's antics, but this one was enough to make up for the rest. They shook on it and Brice took his leave.

Sometime while they'd been negotiating, the Agua Luna had taken off and Marcus's Filósofo landed. It fit on the larger slab about as well as Brice's fit on the smaller.

"Sanchez, I presume," Marcus said in a tone somewhere between surly and jovial. Only he would be able to perfect that balance, a complete cabrón and a clown at the same damn time. A payaso whose antics were unwelcome, at that.

"Reginald," Brice said, because he knew it was a point of irritation; if he had to be called by his given name at all, Marcus preferred Reggie.

He bristled, but not very visibly; Brice just knew what to look for.

"I see you've _somehow_ managed to make it here ahead of me." The sarcasm in his voice could have whitewashed his whole ship.

Brice knew how to play that game, though. "You're a regular genius, you know that? A master of the obvious."

"And you're a jack of all trades and a master of none. A quién le importa?"

Brice's smile was only not a grimace by virtue of his thoughts: "I believe you're here to pay up on the wager you made."

Marcus hesitated, then turned around and said something to Sammy that made the kid rabbit back into the ship with a quickness. When Sammy came back down, he was carrying a fragment of a warp crystal; even broken they were muy valioso. "I believe this is your preferred form of payment?"

It was not in any way his preferred form of payment; he'd just stolen Marcus's before abandoning ship because they were small, valuable, and the loss of them would mean that Marcus wouldn't be able to follow after Brice anytime soon. It had worked, too: Marcus hadn't caught up to Brice until two years later. Dos malditos años

Evidently Marcus took Brice's silence as offense. "I can offer _other_ forms of payment, if you prefer, but those are not fit for the ears of cabin boys and un ginger piloto de bobo who doesn't know how to eavesdrop without being noticed."

Brice was glad for his moca skintone; it meant that he could blush and it didn't show up easily. Not like Marcus's, which was pale as Ginger's for all his dark hair and eye color. He could hear Ginger retreating back into the ship, the sound of her steel-toed boots ringing on the gangplank. "Give me the damned crystal."

By now he'd gotten used to the jolt of attraction that happened whenever they touched--like electricity, only it wasn't, because it was _every damned time_. Either Marcus felt nothing, or he'd learned to hide his reaction well.

"Oh, and, Brice: I wouldn't pull into any Armada ports. They're under the impression that your vessel has gone rogue, for some reason. I can't imagine why, but the soldado who detained me told me to give you a warning. Una promesa es una promesa; my job is done here."

Was Brice never going to get a one-up on Marcus without Marcus getting one right back? Their age difference accounted for some of it, yeah, but it always seemed like Marcus was one step ahead ever since he caught up.

The bastard.

"Gracias," Brice ground out. But Marcus was already turning back to his ship, now he'd played his cards.

Not all of his cards, Brice knew, but enough of them. Whoever Marcus's contacts were in the Armada, they were higher up than Brice's. Infierno.

\---

The limitations on what ports he could put in to smarted more than Brice would have thought it could. But it also made figuring out where Marcus would go and heading him off at the pass much easier: he landed mere minutes after Marcus at Airlight, the smallest port on Raska.

"Fancy seeing you here," Marcus said, but he sounded like he actually meant it.

"Callar," Brice growled, and wished that he might actually do what Brice said and be quiet for once. "I _need_ this contact, and you know it."

Marcus shook his head. "Let's stop pretending this is about contacts and jobs. De acuerdo?"

"What the fuck else would it be about?" He did not in any way like where this conversation was going, but he wasn't going to turn his back on Marcus long enough to go find the contact. Knowing him, he'd do something to sabotage Trazador and then Brice would really be fucked; his crew could easily overpower Brice's.

"Niño bobo," Marcus said, with another shake of his head. "You really have _no_ idea, do you?"

"I really have no idea why you're such a gilipollas tonto who can't mind his own goddamn business and leave. me. alone." Brice wasn't shouting, his voice instead going low and angry.

Marcus moved to touch Brice, who moved away too quickly for hands to be laid on him. With a sigh, Marcus said, "Because I would like to sleep with you. Of course, that is supposing you stop long enough to examine your own actions and realize that you may be flirting like a niño but you _are_ flirting."

"I'm not a fucking boy!" Brice all but shouted. It was hardly the least important part of what Marcus had said but--but. It was safer than the rest. "Why can't you just leave well enough alone? There are _plenty_ of people in the 'verse who'd sleep with you, even if you are a cabrón."

"As childish as it is to say, you started this farce. I'm finishing it." And with that he moved quicker than Brice was ready for, grabbing both of Brice's wrists and pinning him against the side of Trazador with a kiss.

If normal touch was electricity, then this was a lightning strike. An unpredictable jolt that bounced around Brice's body, weakening his knees and keeping him from biting Marcus's stupid tongue off and actually making him arch against the larger man's body, whimpering against Marcus's lips.

Marcus pressed his advantage and slid one knee between Brice's legs and leaned his hip against Brice's cock. It was the most delicious pleasure Brice had ever had shoot through him, better than all the mediocre sex he'd had with everyone else, male and female alike.

By the time Marcus pulled away for proper breaths, they were both panting and Brice felt like he'd been through the wringer. It took many, many pants before he could gather himself enough to make a retort: "I can't... mnnn, no puedo creer. You spent two years tracking me down just for a fuck."

The breath from Marcus's laugh on Brice's neck made his knees weak again, and he was glad that he was still pinned against his ship. "I didn't spend two years tracking you down. I saw you at a port, and spent a few weeks investigating. You _did_ deserve to have a trick played on you, and-- ahh," Marcus grabbed Brice's hand before Brice could squeeze Marcus's nipple properly. "Déjame hablar, Brice. Have a little patience."

"No quiero," Brice said, impatiently. He added, a little more quietly, "Can we take this inside? También no quiero follar en público."

Marcus's smile was... bemused, maybe. "Since it doesn't seem like I'm going to be able to finish what I'm saying, sí."

"Excelente. My ship has fewer witnesses." By which Brice meant, fewer people who he never wanted to see again.

For some reason the curve of Marcus's lips seemed to imply that he knew exactly what Brice wasn't saying, which was fucking annoying. Brice slipped out from between Marcus and Trazador and led him around to the gangplank up to the actual entrance. The cargo bay opened, but he wasn't taking on any cargo here and there wasn't any easy way up from the cargo bay to the rest of the ship. Poles down, yeah, but nothing up aside from climbing back up the way you'd gone down.

"Finalmente!" Ginger said, when she saw them.

"Your tongue should be fucking someone instead of talking," Brice said, deliberately crude.

Ginger just rolled her eyes and stepped out of the way so that they could pass. He'd have to reprimand her later for... for something. He didn't know what, but he'd figure out un crimen.

Even if it was the largest of the personal quarters on the ship, Brice's room was still tiny. Brice had to palm open the lock before they could stumble in, and once they had Marcus pinned Brice up against the newly shut and locked door.

"Looks like I got you again," he said, his voice low and gravelly in a way that went straight to the pleasure center in Brice's brain.

Then again, the application of Marcus's body weight against Brice's probably had something to do with that. "What makes you think this isn't me letting you get me?"

"Because you can't get away." The way Marcus said it was so self-confident and grating that Brice had to try it. He managed to slide away, but in the confines of the tiny room Marcus caught him easily and pinned him again, more thoroughly this time.

Brice panted, eyes half-open as he squirmed against Marcus. He wasn't actually trying to get away; he was trying to get a better angle for his cock to rub against some part of Marcus. "Let me-- let me--"

"Dímelo," Marcus breathed, the command hot against Brice's face. "Tell me what you want."

"Fuck you." The curse had little pull when Brice couldn't summon steady enough breath to put feeling into the words; it merely sounded breathy and maybe the tiniest bit whiny. "Let me up."

Marcus pressed a little harder, a little closer. "No. Tell me you want it; beg for it."

Fuck, Brice thought, and squirmed more. He was panting with need now, and could not fathom why just being held down was so, so hot. Next he'd start shaking, and probably begging. The way Marcus wanted him to. "No, no voy a. Déjame levanto!"

"I cannot rationally believe that you actually want me to let you up. Not with how you look right now. Even with your skin tone I can see how your skin's getting flushed. And then there's your breathing. Really, Brice, didn't the Armada teach you any self-control?"

Yes. No. Maybe. Brice bit his lip, tilting his head back and to the side, baring his neck in hopes that Marcus would do something other than talk.

Only, when he leaned in and tasted, it was a tease. Barely any contact, just brief and then hot breath and then coldness again after Marcus pulled away.

He was _not_ going to beg. This cabrón was not going to get him to beg. No way in hell. "Just fuck me."

"Mmm, tempting offer, but no. I've waited two years for this; I can wait another ten minutes. Or two hours. However long it takes you to beg, Brice."

Stupid Marcus and his juegos estúpidos. Stupid games that were just completely unnecessary and not what he wanted and why couldn't he just not be an asshole for once in his life? Brice whimpered, whined, squirming. With the movement earlier, he'd managed to get to where he could arch up enough that his cock would rub against Marcus's abs, but Marcus was too smart for that. He moved away entirely, leaving Brice there on the floor.

When Brice sat up, Marcus moved around behind him, and Brice looked over his shoulder just in time to get thrown forward against the floor, face-down this time.

"Fuck." Crafty bastard. He knew that Brice wouldn't hump the floor, somehow. "If you wanted to fuck me like this, all you had to do was ask."

Marcus's laugh was sexy. Somehow. "I'm waiting on _you_ to ask, remember?"

Brice hadn't forgotten, not for a second. He shifted experimentally, rolling his hips in a way that made his ass especially prone and rubbing back against Marcus's cock. It was hard, at least--confirmation that Marcus enjoyed this game--but he only got a little rubbing in before Marcus's hand found the center of his lower back and pushed his hips back down against the floor. It hurt, the sudden slam, but Brice was too busy laughing and being breathless to care. "Que lo quiero! You can't pretend--"

"I never said I didn't want it. I just said I wasn't going to take it until you begged for it, and I'm not. Begging with your body doesn't count; you have to do that with your mouth."

"Fuck me."

Marcus leaned down, and Brice felt his words hot against the back of his neck. "Commands are not pleas. Try again."

Maybe in a second, when Brice wasn't busy shuddering happily and rocking his hips against the floor. Everyone had thresholds, and Marcus just pushed Brice past caring about humping his dirty, threadbare rug.

"Mendigue," Marcus ordered--reminded--him, after a good forty-five seconds of floor-humping.

Brice bit back telling Marcus where he could shove the idea of Brice begging for anything. "Why don't _you_ beg. I don't have to fuck you; I can come like this."

The way Marcus flipped Brice back over was, Brice had to admit, pretty graceful. Smooth. The bruising kiss was less graceful, but Brice couldn't possibly mind so long as he had Marcus's tongue invading his mouth and Marcus's teeth scraping his tongue, biting his bottom lip. After the latter, Marcus pulled away, and Brice pretty much melted back against the floor again.

He tried for mock-petulant with "Jesus, would you just _do something_ already?" but it came out sounding more whiny than anything.

So Marcus kissed him. Not with the bruising kind of force he'd used last time, but not far off from it, though this time he let Brice kiss a little too, let Brice's tongue slide into his mouth and played with it in a slow, aimless sort of way at odds with the intensity of the kiss. Brice hummed into the kiss, then made a sound, then arched up against Marcus and slid an arm around Marcus's neck to make sure he didn't pull away.

The other went down to grip Marcus's ass through his thick jeans, and that actually got a soft, surprised sound and the kiss broken. Brice wasn't in the mood for that, though, and claimed Marcus's lips again impatiently. He wrapped his leg around Marcus's waist, opposite to his hand, so that when Marcus tried to pull away all Brice had to do was hang there and look at him.

Marcus's laugh was soft, delighted. "Wondered how long it'd take you to quit playing games."

Oh, so this was what Marcus _planned?_ Or wanted Brice to think that he'd planned, at least. Either way, the only thing that mattered was, "What, so I get to fuck you, then?"

"Mmm. Only if you keep kissing me like that." Marcus leaned his head back down, so Brice gladly claimed his lips once more.

He might have given a shit that he was being _allowed_ this if he'd thought about it more, or been less horny, but he was plenty horny and not in a mood to think about anything except how to get both of them sufficiently naked in the least amount of time.

One way was easiest. "On the bed," Brice said when he couldn't stand it anymore, already unwrapping himself from Marcus and scooting out from underneath him.

Marcus didn't even need to be told to strip; he was out of his shirt by the time Brice was on his feet. It seemed like eons before Brice was naked and pressing Marcus back against the sheets, long enough that his erection was flagging even in the face of anticipation, but it couldn't have been more than a minute.

"Your sheets leave something to be desired," Marcus rumbled from beneath him. "Next time, we fuck on my ship--"

" _No_ va a pasar."

"In my room, on my bed, which has silk sheets."

Space was a pretty cold place, but silk sheets? "You're a dandy?"

Marcus's grin said that he was and he had no remorse for this particular trait. Also that he was surprised Brice had taken so long to figure it out--or maybe Brice was reading too much into a simple upturn of the lips. "Are you going to kiss me, or do I have to insult you first?"

Oh, it was _on_. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you can't walk straight for the rest of the week," he growled, and kissed Marcus firmly on the lips.

No reply came, whether due to the kiss or due to the promise, and Brice was perfectly happy to lose himself in the feel of Marcus below him (where he belonged) and the subtle sensation of Marcus's light fingers over his body and the warm heat coiling in the pit of his stomach from kiss after kiss after kiss.

Marcus's touches weren't just light; they were fleeting. A caress here, the back of his hand pressed gently there. The teasing drove Brice to distraction and he finally just broke the kisses and grabbed Marcus's hand and pressed it over one of his nipples. "Pinch."

"Ah, the impatience of youth," he said, like he wasn't sporting an erection.

Brice opened his mouth to retort, but then Marcus did exactly what Brice had asked and he moaned instead. Lowly, first, then a hissing intake of breath, then another one, higher, when Marcus pinched both nipples at once.

His hands went down to Brice's cock, after that, one sliding the length as the other reached lower, to cup and squeeze at his balls. "You keep this up and I'm going to come," didn't see Marcus letting up at all, though. He varied his touches a little, squeezing or pressing harder, moving faster, until Brice was thrusting his hips into Marcus's hand, fisting the sheets with one hand while the other cupped the back of Marcus's neck and he buried his face in the crook. "Ah-- ah, fuck, I--"

"Come for me," Marcus said, smooth and not commanding at all, and Brice did. He groaned as Marcus milked him, and opened his eyes in time to see Marcus's fingers wiping up the stripes on his belly. "Abrir la boca?"

Once again not a command, so Brice didn't mind doing it. He knew the taste of himself well enough by now that he only grimaced a little, and that was mostly for the way Marcus wiped his wet but clean fingers on Brice's jaw.

Brice pretty much collapsed against him, then, groaning again happily and nuzzling his face against Marcus's chest.

"I hope you're not so old you plan on falling asleep now." Marcus's tone was a little short of scathing. Not much, but a little.

With every fiber in him, Brice wanted to hum and close his eyes, but he was ten years younger than Marcus so instead he just ended up sighing and lifting himself up a little. "Qué hago ahora? I can't fuck you for another ten minutes at _least_."

"You could fellate me, so long as it's not, ah, beneath you."

So to speak, Brice thought with a half-snort, half laugh. He shimmied down until his face was even with Marcus's cock and then leaned down to nuzzle his face lazily against dark pubes. "Mmmm." They were wiry, but not unpleasant, and he enjoyed denying Marcus a little. Well, a lot.

Marcus was not so very nice that he'd let it go on very long, though, and cupped one hand around the back of Brice's head to face his head the correct direction. His cock was not huge, but not tiny either. Adequate, one might say, and flushed red beneath Marcus's pale skin tone.

He nuzzled it, too, and delighted in the hiss that Marcus gave. Laughing might have come next, but the smell was too good to resist; he had to open his mouth and taste. A lick, first, like those first teasing touches of Marcus's, and then wrapping his mouth around the side and moving up and down the shaft in no great hurry.

Now that he'd gotten where he wanted, Marcus did not rush things. He was content to let Brice do as he willed, so long as Brice was doing something instead of nothing. And Brice did do plenty, even if he kept his touch and the suction light at first in order to not bring Marcus closer to orgasm than Brice wanted him to be.

"Have you forgotten how to give a proper blow job, or did you never know the correct methods?" Marcus asked when Brice did not speed up at all of the silent cues that Marcus had given.

Brice looked up with his best innocent expression plastered to his face. Or at least the best one he could make without bursting out laughing. "But I've ever made love to a man before."

"Made love?" Marcus laughed, shaking his head. "No, I would never guess that. Fucking, on the other hand..."

At that, Brice could not help a grin. It ruined things--not that Marcus had ever believed him in the first place--but he did not care. "Mmm. S'pose I suck you properly; where does that lead?"

"Other than orgasm? Nada especial."

This time they laughed together, and once that had trailed off Brice returned sucking Marcus with a purpose. The moans and sighs and even the few prized whimpers that he drew were like hitting the ignition switch; he was hard once more by the time that Marcus came. Brice would have swallowed it down--he rather liked that idea--but at the last moment Marcus pulled him away and came on his face instead.

Brice closed his eyes in time, but only just, and kept them closed as he felt a bit of come dripping down from his eyebrow. "Do you plan on--"

"Impaciente," Marcus said, chiding, and cleaned Brice's face off. He was not slow with it, by any means, but all the same needing to see the come was not Brice's kink and being cleaned of it was not his kink either.

Fucking Marcus, on the other hand, might well be considered for the realm of kink territory. "Ready--"

"Shall I finger myself, or will you do the honors?" Marcus asked, sensibly, and also like he was in no hurry for the main event.

If that was going to be his means of stalling, he might as well do himself. "Do it. I want to see, too."

"Yo no lo dudo," Marcus said, but he did as he was told, going from sitting to hands-and-knees with his ass in the air. Brice handed him the lubricant, and he squeezed a bit onto his fingers.

The process was slow, most likely on purpose. Trying to bait Brice, to see if he could make Brice hurry him. Well, Brice wasn't going to give the cabrón the pleasure, and just sat at the foot of his bed jacking himself in slow, sure motions.

Once he seemed to realize that Brice wasn't going to be drawn, Marcus sped up, going from one finger direct to three. Both of them hissed at that, slow exhales through clenched teeth. Marcus would never give himself away like this, Brice wanted to think, but-- but. He was.

Marcus's gaze over his shoulder cemented it, heat and eagerness burning in his eyes. "Bueno?"

"Sí," Brice said, breathing out the word like a stifled curse. He rose and positioned himself behind Marcus, barely waiting for Marcus's fingers to move before he pushed inside.

There was no headboard for Marcus's hands to grasp, only the handles for the drawers that went into the wall, and those were flimsy at best; they were the same on every ship. He gripped the sheets instead, pushing back against Brice, still looking over his shoulder with that heated gaze. Steamy gaze and the tense muscles of his back standing out like-- Brice didn't even know, but it was sexy and he couldn't resist touching. The muscles were hard beneath Brice's fingers, and when he dug his fingers in Marcus gave the most delicious moan-and-shudder that Brice had ever seen.

He couldn't stay still any longer at the feeling of Marcus's body shuddering around his cock, and gripped one of Marcus's shoulders as he began to rock in and out. Slow movements at first, then faster when Marcus moaned again and pushed back against every thrust and urged Brice on. "That's it. Just--faster. Yes. God, no estoy hecha de cristal. _Harder_."

Brice didn't care that it was an order; he obeyed. His breath came short and fast, little gasps that were soft initially and progressed to sounds just short of shouts, interspersed with groans and even Marcus's name, once.

"I'm going to--" Marcus cut off and abruptly went so tight around Brice that the fucking was, for brief moments, a beautiful agony. But when he spilled his seed he loosened up again and for the first time Brice realized that Marcus hadn't touched his own cock at all.

He didn't have the capacity to do more than file the information away; the sight of Marcus half-collapsed under him and the loose, boneless feeling meeting every thrust only drove Brice on faster, deeper. Harder, fingers digging into Marcus's hip and shoulder, Brice's body leaning over Marcus's until his face was buried in Marcus's hair and the thrusts were tiny, quick little things and he came like that, clutching Marcus and muffling his cries in the nape of Marcus's neck.

The bed was not large enough for them to both lay on their backs, so Brice lay on his side and Marcus did also, his eyes still half-closed and his mouth hanging open while his breathing evened out.

"Holy hell," Marcus breathed, eventually, and sighed, and touched Brice's shoulder. "I haven't had that good a fucking in ages."

Brice felt a swell of pride at that; the idea that he could reduce Marcus to this was a heady one indeed. He wanted to tell Marcus that it wouldn't happen again, but... "I'll do it again, if you agree to talk to your Armada contact and have him make the accusation against Trazador go away."

"And stop fucking over all of your jobs?" Marcus asked, a smile spreading over his lips as his hand moved to cup Brice's face. His thumb rubbed absently at the stubble on Brice's jawline.

There was no need to add that; it was understood.

Marcus sighed happily. "I _guess_ I can see my way to that. You'll have to fuck me at least once a week, though."

"Your ship is faster than mine," Brice returned, because it was. And he didn't want to be flying all over creation trying to find Marcus before the one-week deadline was up.

"Mmm. You know, I could sub-contract you. You'd remain captain, but all your jobs would come through me and I'd get a ten-percent cut. I might even see my way to a bi-weekly fuck, if we arranged things that way."

The bastard. Brice would get to keep his command, though, and wouldn't have to be constantly hunting out new contacts, wondering where and when the next well-paying job might come... "Agreed."

Marcus smiled brightly, and pulled Brice into a hug. It was a nice hug, but it meant that Brice ended up in the little wet spot on the bed and fucking ewww to that. Brice squirmed away and fetched a shirt from the dirty clothes pie and wiped himself off, then spread it over the spot and resumed his position.

Of _course_ Marcus laughed, but Brice let him get away with it.

For now.


End file.
